


Double Take

by Breaking_Away



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Depressing, Down To One Ghoul Boi, Heavy Angst, I cried while writing this, M/M, Skeptic Turned Believer, there is so much angst, this is so sad, this is so sad alexa play despacito
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 13:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breaking_Away/pseuds/Breaking_Away
Summary: Shane Madej has always been a skeptic. Always proclaimed himself to not believe in the supernatural, in ghosts. But you never know when you might need to do a double take.





	Double Take

**Author's Note:**

> Oh God, this was so freaking painful to write. This is so angsty, I swear. Anyway, hope you guys like it. Now onwards with the depressing story!

Shane Madej has never believed that ghosts are real.

He's always been a skeptic, but his opinion was never important until his awkward coworker came up to him nervously, hands fiddling and eyes staring intensely at the ground, and asked him to co-host a new show. He remembered the way Baby face Bergara's eyes had lit up when Shane agreed, face snapping up to gaze at Shane with a smile growing on his lips. 

That memory kept replaying in Shane's head for some reason as he walked across the streets of LA towards his destination, no tears streaming down his face, but his eyes hollow and soulless. Maybe it was the fondness, the memory of the start of his and Ryan's special friendship waiting to bloom from that moment on. Maybe it was the excitement from co-hosting a potentially popular show instead of just editing for big, important people. Maybe it was the slight humor of the aspect of Shane and Ryan, two complete randoms, talking about past murders together that caused the bittersweet laugh that Shane felt but couldn't actually cough from his throat.

His mind barely registered which foot was which, but somehow his internal GPS carried him to his destination. He was almost like Bigfoot, back slightly hunched from looking blatantly at the ground and his arms hanging loosely and without purpose at his sides. Also, his 90 percent leg body only helped to fit the image. Only two things made him different. One, the obvious fact that he was not a brown hairy monster that walks in the woods and eats squirrels. Two, as far as Wikipedia knew, Bigfoot couldn't feel emotion as strong as humans.

And Shane was feeling plenty of emotions right now. Half of him was drowning, buried under a wave of unshed tears, and the other half numb and empty and an echo and everything pathetic in the world, like a cold 100-pound weight settling on his chest, and no matter what he did, he couldn't lift it off.

Ryan would've been able to lift it off. With his stupid, perfect, P90X arms. He would have grabbed on and hurled it away from Shane, helped him up and made a joke, deflating the terrible situation and then hugged him tightly until Shane could breathe normally again.

But Ryan wasn't here anymore. His strong arms would never be able to do that. Shane was almost to where Ryan now rested, where his strong arms would never lift again. He treaded on slowly with a handful of slightly crushed pink flowers in his back pocket.

Eventually, Shane with his clouded thoughts and glossy eyes reached the large plane of grass littered with grey inscribed stones. He walked over hesitantly to the little grey tombstone with his best friend's name on it. He looked down for a moment. He was standing on top of Ryan. Ryan's body. He was only a few feet under. If things were normal, if Shane had been staring at Ryan's happy face, Shane would have just reached out for Ryan and closed the few feet between them. But he couldn't do that anymore. Not with hard earth between them. Oh yeah, and the barrier of death.

Shane imagined the cold, pale and lifeless man lying still and serene in the same black coffin that his hands had brushed against ever so slowly at the funeral. That wasn't right. Ryan was always nervous in some way, whether it be his hands fumbling, his fingers intertwining, his feet tapping or biting his lip, he was never just; still. Shane looked up from the soiled ground, trying to cork the flood of emotion that comes from standing over your dead best friend's grave.

Shane then squatted, and in his crouched position he sniffled, shakily yet so serenely pulling out the withered flowers from his back pocket and placing them gently in the front of the tombstone. His cold hand traveled over the marks. Every scratch felt like a canyon running through his heart, every speck of dirt a large boulder weighing the grave down. Ryan didn't deserve a messy grave. Suddenly Shane's eyebrows became arched, determined and mad because it was Ryan's grave. Ryan Bergara. and Ryan deserved the best. 

He brushed off all the dirt specks gently at first, a few flying onto the mushy ground beneath him. Shane breathed slowly. Okay, so the basic specs were off. That was better. There were a few spots that had been worn down over time, dry dirt-smudged into them. His expression only more determined and heart wrenching, his fingers tightly locked around the corners of the grave, while he somewhat violently attempted to smudge away the dirt pounded into the stone. He was unsuccessful, and let out a grunt of frustration, only gripping the stone tighter. He couldn't do it. It wouldn't come off. He started breathing heavily, chest heavy with an unseen burden as he started to panic. 

Eyes wide, his hands moved over to a scratch, frantically trying to remove it from the inscribed mineral. He rubbed it, clawed at it, at one point punched it. His noises became frantic, clawing at his throat, desperate for some closure, for something to just get the damn scratches off. His vision became slightly blurry, and his eyes widened while he looked around frantically for nothing. A tear started rolling down his face as he only continued to try harder, expression growing more frustrated, and whimpering growing more resilient in the silent night. He screamed and grabbed his hair madly, attempts futile at this point, the words Ryan deserves better Ryan deserves better thumping in his head like his racing pulse. He slowed down, his tears now streaming down red tinged cheeks, all anger gone from his eyes. All that was left was a look of desperation. Sad, pitiful, and simple desperation. Shane, still crouching, had slowed down his attempts, and lightly punched the grave before lowering his head between his legs.

And for the first time since that awful day, Shane began to sob. Heavy cries racked his lungs, giving no break. Tears pooling, shirt wet, he clung to the grave in the cold crisp air like it was the only thing that mattered. He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. The tears just kept coming, wet and salty down his unshaven and tired face. He stayed like that, squatting and sobbing while clinging to his other half's grave until he lost track of the minutes, the slight burn in his leg muscles of little comparison to the overwhelming pain in his heart. The sobs turned to simple tears, the simple tears turned to sniffles, and the sniffles turned to a look of pure, defeated, guilty, ashamed, calm sadness. His strong grip never let go of the cold stone, but his broken face slowly looked up to the only lasting memory of how much he misses his best friend.

Ryan Bergara

A loving son, friend, and inspirer

He will never be forgotten

Shane Madej has never believed that ghosts are real.

But goddammit, now he wishes they were.

**Author's Note:**

> Dang


End file.
